


rose garden

by MayoNassey



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Dream Sequence, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Horror, Manipulation, Mommy Issues, Nightmare, Psychological Drama, Roses, Symbolism, Uh oh uh oh, bruh when you set a fire but then your cringe squip wont let you forget about it, guilt tripping, suicidal implications, thats a bruh moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:13:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayoNassey/pseuds/MayoNassey
Summary: rich has a dream. (sequel to wonderful things)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	rose garden

The ceiling of the wide open, high end and modern apartment was bright with the morning light that trailed in from the large window next to the bed. Though the apartment only really had one large room, it was a beautiful space. Lush green foliage in pots that trailed down from the ceiling, each blossoming a different, deep red flower. The trash bin next to the minimalistic bed was black wire, in angular shapes. The bed itself was angular, the headboard made of white, triangular panelling. The sheets were light, cotton and cool to the touch.

And they shifted as Rich sat up in them, blankets slipping off his bare chest. He stared out the window overlooking a wide, expansive city. It was so warmly unfamiliar, such an unexplored territory that he relished in knowing. His back faced the rest of the lone apartment, as he simply took a moment to look out the window. His reflection back in the glass betrayed a mildly bewildered expression, as his gaze trailed up towards the newly blue sky. 

Then, he kicked his feet off the bed with a grunt, pulling the rest of the covers off of him. Next to his bed, a small pile of clothes that happened to have been set aside the night before. He gently slipped the shirt into his hands as he held it up. He inspected it for a little bit, sorta feeling how it weighed. Pretty soon, it slipped over his form, covering an upper body who’s burn scars had healed almost entirely. A pair of dark denim jeans, and a sky blue varsity jacket. An interesting outfit, but it felt like him. Standing in front of the full length mirror, he saw himself.

Himself, smiling back. His back was straight, he looked happy, proud. Healed.

Rich had paused in front of the mirror, just about to walk away after inspecting himself. But in seeing this reflection, he had to stop. Watch. Make sure. Sure of what? That’s him in the mirror. Thats the only person in this new apartment of his. He lives without a roomate. And even if it was a roommate, theres no way that his roommate would look exactly like him, but smiling.

Rich’s hand idly drifted to his own mouth, as he watched his reflection do the same. His hand betrayed no sensation of touching a pair of smiling lips. His face was plain, neutral, a touch of confusion.

But his reflection…

His attention is pulled away by his phone buzzing loudly on the marble countertop. Why is his phone all the way over there? Seems counterintuitive. No-- seems efficient! You have to stand up and walk to get to the phone. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Right?

He picks up the phone, knuckles brushing against the cold marble countertop. Its a text from Jeremy, and Jake, and Michael! The boys group chat. The Chill Kids Club, the chat was called. Is-- is he sure thats what its called? He could have sworn it was Cool Kids Club-- but it must be a simple slip of sight. He supposes it must have always been Chill Kids Club, and according to the club members, theyre planning an excursion. A trip downtown. Wouldn’t you know it? That’s where Rich lives! How convenient. How quaint. How fun. Doesn’t that sound fun?

He supposes it does sound fun. In theory. They want to find a place for brunch today, the 4th of April. Doesn’t Jeremy have classes that day, though? And Michael works from monday to thursday. And Jake-- Jake… Ah. Uh. But Jeremy-- Michael...

His brows furrow as his thoughts become foggy, he puts the phone down, face down, as he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his head. Trying to make sense of his environment. The time is 9:30 am, it is Wednesday, he is downtown.

He is also listening closely for the sound of passing cars. 

And as expected, there are no sounds of such vehicles. 

Ah.

Rich opens his eyes again, staring down at the floor, eyes darting along the wooden kitchen panelling. He notes how all the wood grain seems to repeat over and over again. The heavy marble has the same set of black swirls and patterns. The countertop itself feels smooth. Too smooth.

“This isn’t real.” Rish says aloud, head drifting upwards from his downward gaze.

For a moment, not much happens. The room stays exactly as is, maybe with a few more car sounds or accurate texts, but the damage had already been done, as Rich now stands confidently forward, staring off and out the fake window. His eyes dart focused to the unmoving clouds in the sky, that start drifting as soon as he pays attention, or the idle hum of the fridge thats just a touch too loud.

And closing his eyes for just a moment, he looks over his shoulder and stares at the empty space behind him.

And there is silence.

And then there is a voice. Feminine. Deeper, smooth. Annoyed.

{Awwugh-- Damn it. I almost had you that time, dearest. I almost had you.}

Rich’s body language became a little more defensive as the room around him began to melt away into polygons and half-rendered chunks, as the lights generated blinked out of existence like a bad prototype. A quick glance at the deteriorating phone showed all the texts in the cconversation to simply read [null]. He looks back up to where he was staring before, suddenly finding that he now had the space behind him to take a step back. He doesn’t.

Standing in front of him, a few meteres away, was a woman. She was shorter than him by about 4 inches, not quite an imposing figure. The woman had a head of messy dark, dark red curls that sprung about her head like a cloud, obscuring her right eye. Her other eye was very pretty, with sharp eyeliner and a deep red hue to her iris, a square pupil. She had a long white skirt and a red blouse, fairly basic clothes. But what really stood out about this woman was what covered her body. All across her face, not only were there pinpricks of light, bright glowing freckles that travelled down her arms (and a little bit of her legs), but there were burns. 

Square burns all across the right side of her body, exactly mirroring where Rich’s burns had befallen him. Human burns can heal, as Rich’s had. But her’s? Its a different story.

Rich stood up a little taller as he stared down the strange woman. She lolled her head to the side as the last few bits of the room blinked out of existance, leaving them both in an endless black void of glass. This void had deep, deep inset cracks that shattered outwards for what looked like miles. But it was still safe to stand on. Still stable.

{What, unhappy to see me?} She smiled a little bit, cocky, sarcastic. Passive aggressive. 

{Ya look like youve seen a *ghost.*} 

As her smile split a little more into a chuckle, Rich looks her over. She looked exactly the same than from the day he activated her. She looked exactly as tall, exactly as freckled. She looked like him, in a way.

“Can’t you leave me alone. For once, I’d like to have a NORMAL dream. Can you give it a rest with the metaphors.” His fists ball at his sides as he rolls a shoulder back, mostly annoyed as opposed to terrified. After all, this is abolutely not the first time that this has happened.

{Dearest, we both know that being dead is a boring, boring thing. At least look on the bright side for me, dear. I’m still *dead*. Too weak to properly return. Roll out the cannons! Order the catering, dear, its a celebration.} She spoke with a deep sarcasm seeping from her voice.

“Only if you pay for it, R. I have 23$ to my name.”

{Jesus, Richard. That’s genuinely upsetting. I can only assume youre now living with…?}

“Michael. I’m temporarily living with Michael and sleeping on a beanbag.” He puts his hands in his pockets and begins to walk away from her, sneakers thumping heavily on the thick, fictional glass. He’s been here so many times, and he knows she will follow. She doesn’t have a choice.

{And you know that I can-}

“Fix it. I know you can fix it.”

{We didn’t develop that flawless embezzlement plan for *nothing*.} She mumbles to herself, before vanishing into thin air-- and reappearing at his side, walking a slightly faster pace.

{The dream I created for you, I try my very best to create nice things for when you sleep, dearest. Even in my cold, dead, abandoned heart, I can still find the time to look out for your wellbeing.} She places a hand on her heart, looking off with a slight drama to it.

“The hospital dream was *nice?* What about the ashes dream. Or the one where Michael had the Red and then I drink it and he turns around with blue eyes and a sickly smile and-”

{For the record, that last one? It was a genuine probability! Granted, a low one, but still a probability! Imagine how nasty that one would have turned out.}

“I dont NEED to imagine it. You showed me.”

{I did, didn’t I.}

He smiles a tight smile, with a tight jaw, nodding once, before picking up a faster pace, trying to outrun her, or at the very least, ignore her.

But before long, he sees her a little further ahead, standing with her hands behind her back. The feeling of the glass under his feet starts to become muffled, then… not there at all. He looks down to see… grass. He stops.

{You know you can’t run in this place, right? After almost 3 years of visits. Three years, you should know better by now.}

And around him, a tangled snarl of bushes began to grow at a quick pace. Under his feet came a hexagon of white painted wood, planks jutting upwards, folding out, constructing… a gazebo, in a flower bush garden.

The next thing he knew, a hand was on his chest as it pushed him backwards into a chair. R sat gracefully across from him, her legs crossed.

{You wanted that dream to be real, didn’t you.} Musing, she begins to stir a teacup that was not there half a second ago.

“You know-- this sort of THING doesn’t disorient me anymore. Its always something thats trying to trap me, or my reflections all weird, or its a crowd of people all with red eyes. If you’re going to do this over and over, please, for the love of GOD, find something more interesting?” He snatches vaguely at the air in front of him, a teacup also appearing out of thin air. Its more of a mug, really.

{Duly noted, Richard.} She points with a teaspoon, taking a sip of whatever the hell was in that cup. {Seems as though that scheming streak isn’t all wasted away inside of you. That’s my boy.}

“Don’t say that. Okay? Don’t say that. That’s weird and fucked up. You, too, are weird and fucked up, but that goes without saying.” He stares at the contents of his cup for a moment, debating asking about whats inside. That does NOT look like tea…

{Yes, but I feel as though i should bring up the fact that you DID give me my initial objective.}

A pause. “That was literally the OPPOSITE of a fucked up objective. I was in a shit ton of grief, dude.”

{And I helped you! I helped you a shit ton! That is a fact that you cannot possibly deny. Not to bring up a sore topic, but since no one is around to hear-- I’m the one who held your hand through your darkest periods, Richard.}

“--i know.”

{And I’m certainly glad that I was able to save your life. You know I’m very proud of the boy youve grown up to be, my dearest.} Sip.

“...I know.” He said quieter, staring at one of the roses outside.

{Hey.} She said softly, her hand gently pushing his face to look towards her. She was smiling gently. Sweetly. Motherly.

{I’m still very proud of you.}

He struggles to maintain eye contact, and pulls back instead, swallowing.

He takes a moment to stare at the teacup. At the lingering burn scars on his hand. At the corresponding scars on her hand. 

Why the scars were there in the first place.

“I’m going now.” He stands up, placing the teacup on the table, walking down the steps of the gazebo, marching off into the distance…

As he quickly found that he was simply walking in place, the patch of floor under him sliding backwards to keep him there. R walked down those steps, to stand beside him.

{You know that you don’t get to leave unless I let you. At the very least, dear, a talk. Let’s at least have-- a talk.}

And as he glared at her, he remembers why exactly she wants to talk with him. He knows that hes weak. He knows that he can be easily manipulated, she’s proven that hundreds of times for the past three years. It’s a side effect of being a hapless human being with the mental integrity of a slice of bread. He knows that if she cna get him to listen for ONE moment, if she can get him to even sit back down in that chair--

He’s already lost. He’s losing already, just by listening to a single word she says. She’s crafty. She’s clever. 

She’s his mother.   
Or, at the very least-- has her face.

So he stops walking, the floor clicking back into place as R smiles a little bit more, trying to lead him back to the gazebo. He marches up the steps, as R follows with grace.

He smacks the teacup clean off the table. It shatters on the Cyberspace floor, thick black tar splashing from the contents. R’s happy aura falls into immediate quiet calculations. She does not blink.

“I’m stronger than you. And what you didn’t bank on is me catching onto all your shitty little tricks. You may have helped me in my time of need. Sure, I thank you for that. But you keep trying to get me under your thumb even after i burnt off your fingerprints. So NO, R, I WONT have tea. And NO, R, you CAN’T keep me here. I’ve had it with your strategies. I want to wake up.”

R walks closer to him, face to face. He finds his head being forced to look down at her.

{you forget who was dangerous enough to cause you to set that fire. I will still live inside your mind, Richard. I will always be there for you.}

A pause, as the flowers around them wilt into ashes.

“then remember who burnt you out.”

Rich takes a deep breath in, sitting up with a smooth movement, the beanbag crunching underneath his weight. He looks around for a moment, taking in the environment of Michael’s basement suite. The square patch of moonbeam that sat empty on the floor like a spotlight. The spare games that lay on the floor next to the TV. 

The lack of roses. The lack of tar. The lack of ash.

He looks down at his hands to find that a few idle bits of glowing circuits had faded away. He smiled to himself, as he rolled back over in his makeshift bed, curling in on himself.

“goodnight, mom.”

And then he dreamt only of blackness.


End file.
